Promises, Promises
by livingdeppgirl
Summary: "It's Tiffany, right?" the boy asked, still staring out to the world without looking at anything in particular. If she didn't know any better, she would assume he was looking at the entire planet, his gaze stretching upon miles and miles of earth and water and sky.


_A/N: This fic is about two years old. I posted it on AO3 and Tumblr, but somehow forgot to post it on here? I'm trying to get back into writing, so I figured that starts with getting this account up to date! Enjoy!_

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"I'm so sick of you treating me like a child!" Tiffany yelled.

"Well, you _are_ my child! That's how I'm _supposed_ to treat you."

"Why can't you just let me go on this date? It matters to me!"

"Tiffany," her mother said, "you can always smell it on girls who sell it. You're not going out dressed like that."

Tiffany and her mother had been arguing for the past hour. She just wanted to meet a boy from school at the café in town, but her mother wouldn't have any of it. Apparently, her dress was "too revealing" and the boy was "too piggish" to understand he needed to keep his hands off of her.

Groaning, she marched out of the house, heels clicking against the hardwood floor. They were already starting to make her feet ache, but she wouldn't give in. She had to prove to her mother that she was wrong. Tiffany could wear what she wanted. There was no reason that fabric should label her as open for business.

As the door creaked open, the cold air hit her with a bitter blast to the face. She shivered, but continued on her way out. She needed the fresh air for a clear head. Her anger could become too difficult to control sometimes, and often, it scared her. She had to walk away from the situation.

However, when she turned to sit on the porch swing, she found someone was already sitting there.

A boy about her age stared into the inky darkness with a stone look on his face. His dark hair flowed to his shoulders like waves of water, seemingly free only to come to an abrupt stop when it hit the obstacle of his shoulders. He was wearing a solid gray sweater with deep blue jeans and a plaid winter coat that reached his knees.

"Uhm…hi?" Tiffany said. She had no idea who this person was.

He didn't turn to look at her. In fact, she would've thought he didn't even hear her if he hadn't patted the available space next to him on the swing.

Slowly, she inched forward to take a seat. She didn't know why, but she had an itchy feeling under her skin. The kind of feeling that told her she should run from this man, this mysterious boy on her front porch with no explanation. However, the feeling only excited her, eliciting a thrill she'd never experienced before.

She sat down.

"It's Tiffany, right?" the boy asked, still staring out to the world without looking at anything in particular. If she didn't know any better, she would assume he was looking at the entire planet, his gaze stretching upon miles and miles of earth and water and sky.

Clearing her throat, she answered with a weak, "Uh…yes."

Finally, he turned to face her.

His _eyes_.

They were a fascinating blue. They pierced through the darkness that weighed down around them, crushing everything in sight except for the incredible light his eyes emitted. They illuminated the rest of his face, a brilliant nose and a strong jaw. He was a beautiful young man, and she felt a tugging in her muscles to reach out and touch him.

"I'm Charles," he replied. "Charles Lee Ray."

And her blood ran cold.

Charles Lee Ray. She knew this boy. This was the kid that had killed the class pet by "accident" in second grade. This was the kid that broke into people's lockers to steal their shit. This was the kid that gave Eddie Caputo a bloody nose and a broken arm for looking at him the wrong way. And they had still remained friends after the fact.

She was afraid of him. And yet, she was also intrigued.

Why was the school's "bad boy" on her porch at eight o'clock on a Friday night?

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"You see that little house over there?" He pointed to the broken-down trailer on the corner of Elm Street. The only thing lighting it up was a street light almost directly above it. The windows were shattered and all the lights turned out, shrouding the inside of the home in pitch black. "That's where I live. I heard a lot of bullshit noise coming from your house, and I came over to tell you guys to shut the fuck up."

Well, he certainly wasn't afraid to speak his mind.

Tiffany huffed annoyance. Of course her mother would scream at her so loud it would be heard by the entire neighborhood. "So, why didn't you?"

He shrugged, turning back to the darkness. "I guess I'd just much rather annoy the hell out of you this way." With a smirk, he pulled a carton of cigarettes from his coat pocket and a box of matches. "Want one?"

"Oh, uh…I don't smoke."

He laughed, a high, maniacal laugh. It made her want to laugh too.

"Here, just take one," he said. "It will calm your nerves."

Timidly, she pulled a cigarette out of the carton and put it between her lips, stained the perfect shade of blood red. Well, she wouldn't get to go on her date, but at least she could look nice for the crazy person on her porch.

He grabbed a match and swiped it against the swing, igniting a spark. A flame grew in its place, flickering in the cold air, but otherwise stable. He used it to light the cigarette that hung from her mouth, staring into her eyes the whole while. It made her uncomfortable, like she was on the edge of a cliff, about to fall headfirst into a bubbling lake of lava.

"Take a drag," he said.

She obeyed, only to erupt in a fit of coughs. The smoke filled her lungs and scratched at her throat the whole way down. It was incredibly unpleasant, and still she pushed through. She wasn't about to let him see her sweat. She could do everything he could.

Coughing, she spluttered, "Aren't you going to light up?"

"Nah, I don't smoke," he said.

"Huh?"

"The uses of fire are endless, you know," he changed the subject. "Not only can it light up toxic waste products, like the one between your lips, but it can also bring life or death to something that had never known true existence before that moment. Did you know that when a person burns alive, not only does it sear off their skin, but it cauterizes blood vessels and can cause a person to go into shock from the pain?"

She laughed nervously, worry crawling under her skin like a thousand worms. A chill ran down her spine. "What are you, some kind of serial killer?"

"No," he said, grinning wickedly. "Just one of the good guys."

"Then why are you trying to kill me with smoking?"

"Did I force you to take that cigarette?" he asked.

She stared down at the burning death between her fingers. He'd only reeled her in to try it. He'd never forced her to breathe it in.

"Like a moth to a flame," she muttered to herself.

"A very pretty moth," he said.

She didn't know what to say to that.

"So," he sighed, "your mom's a bitch, huh?"

"Yeah," she chuckled. "She can be. But, you know, not everything in life can be peachy."

He repeated, "Peachy, huh? I kinda like that word."

"Yeah, and I'd like that life."

"Why don't you just tell her to leave you the fuck alone?"

Tiffany actually laughed this time, heartily and loud. "Trust me, the only way she's going to leave me is through a damn body bag."

He grinned with an evil glint in his bright blue eyes. "Well, I'm sure that can be arranged."

"What?" she asked, unclear if she'd heard him correctly.

"It's been fun, Tiff," he said instead, "But I gotta go. I got a date with a bottle of Bourbon."

She frowned. She was disappointed that he was leaving, as if her company amounted to less than a bottle of liquor. It was nice to have someone to talk to, even if it was only for a short while.

Wait.

"Tiff?" she asked.

"It's called a nickname. You see, you shorten a person's name, and then - "

"Shut up, asshole."

He stood up to leave, stretching his arms out wide above his head. He stared down at her and suddenly seemed to realize something. Shrugging off his coat, he handed it to her. "It's cold out. Put this on."

"Thanks," she answered, surprised. She reached out and took the coat, only now noticing the quivering of her hand. The coat was soft and warm from his body heat. She chuckled. "I could catch my death out here."

"Promises, promises," he told her, smirking. "See ya later, Tiff."

"Bye, Charles."

He turned around, a gleam in his eyes that made her want to fall right in.

"My friends call me Chucky."


End file.
